Operation: Exploding Jellyfish!
by Nagia
Summary: A certain incident involving theft, an engagement ring, Reeve, Yuffie, stairs, broken ribs, Vincent, scary Wutaian delivery ladies, and gunshot wounds. Oh yeah, and CloudandTifa.
1. Prologue

**Operation Jellyfish**

**Prologue: Pink Plasma**

(o)

Very few things that glitter are actually gold. At least, not in Edge. It had been the same way in Midgar.

Good thing for Cloud he wasn't shopping for gold. Or silver. Gold and silver were soft metals, worthless save for their shine.

No, Tifa deserved something special. Unique.

Strong.

Diamonds and steel. He wanted diamonds and steel.

(o.2)

_One Month Later_

_12:00, Edge_

Cloud _strode_ into the office. He did not simply walk, he _strode_. This made him look less like he was scared shitless with general nerves.

His fingers clasped around the tiny black box. He felt a contented smile settle onto his lips as he thought, briefly, about the precious contents of that box.

Reeve looked up from the paperwork. He was using Cait Sith as a calculator. On the wall to the right of the windows hung a Moogle clock.

"Cloud! What can I do for you?" Reeve grinned broadly at him. The smile was nearly lost in the moustache.

"I need to borrow the third drawer on the left side of your desk for a couple of hours."

"What for?"

"Storage."

"Storing what?"

Cloud withdrew the box. He flipped it open, revealing the ring.

"Is this _steel_?" Reeve asked.

"It seemed fitting at the time."

"Cloud, you bought a _steel_ engagement ring."

Cloud just waited.

Reeve fell silent for a moment, and then nearly fell out of his chair laughing. "Diamonds and steel. Sephiroth on a pogo stick..." He paused to laugh. "You win at life, Cloud. You fucking _win_."

Reeve waved a hand. "Sure, go ahead. What's a desk drawer between friends, eh? When are you going to be back to pick it up?"

"About 1600," Cloud replied. "I think."

Reeve put the box in his desk drawer. "See you at 16:00."

"See you then."

* * *

notes

* * *

Okay, you've probably noticed that this fic has gotten much, much longer... without going too many places. Well, somebody complained (legitimately) about the length of this fic, and I don't want anybody getting any ideas as to whether or not this is a one-shot, so here we go: in an easier-to-read format and updated.

Those of you who've cared about this fic since before I multi-chaptered it, I reccommend skipping to chapter three and then reading four.


	2. Chapter One

**Operation: Exploding Jellyfish!**

**Chapter One: Allergic Reaction**

_18:00, Edge_

Yuffie smiled up at the traffic lights. Her fingers itched to rev the engine. The tiny shorts tightened when she shifted her posture on the bike.

The one good thing about Edge, aside from the fact that Tifa and Cloud lived there, was that when the traffic lights turned green... Everybody immediately tried to get into full throttle. A simple light change threatened your life.

The red light flickered.

Yuffie leaned further into the handlebars, her rear foot sliding a little.

Buying a properly functioning _Black Shadow_ hadn't been easy. But she'd found the bike, and it wasn't as cool and full of nifty ways to rip your nose off as Cloud's, but oh god was it _sexy_.

And fast.

The red light flickered a little more. Began to wink on and off.

Her grip tightened on the throttle.

Three things happened in such a rapid succession as to almost occur simultaneously: the light turned green, her PHS started vibrating, and the trucker behind her slammed his foot on the gas.

Yuffie had been ready for the light. Her arm twitched automatically, her wrist flicking, fingers tightening. The bike sped up even as she swore wildly at the jackass behind her.

Her other hand slid down to her thigh, pulled the phone out.

"You have reached the Kisaragi— _Chocobo-#$in mog-licker, you suck your mother's_— Hotline, hunting Materia, stealing small Gil— _if I ever see you again I am going to pour #$ing **napalm** in your fuel tank, you son of a bitch_— and boldly going where you're not supposed to go for the past five years. Yuffie speaking, how may I help you?"

"Hey, Yuffie? It's Cloud. Yeah, I can't get in touch with Reeve, and I can't break into places like this, and, uh, I NEED A HUGE FREAKING FAVOUR."

"You are such a _pain_, Cloud. All right, what I gotta do?"

"Break into Reeve's office for me. Call me when you get there."

He seemed quite content to leave it at that.

"WHAT. ARE YOU KIDDING ME. HE'D KILL ME. HIS **SECURITY GURARDS** WOULD KILL ME. NO FREAKING WAY."

Cloud, being the sneaky bastard that he was, used his secret weapon: "Milkshakes?"

She paused. She thought about the horrible death at the hands of Cait Sith. She thought about milkshakes.

"NO, NOT EVEN FOR MILKSHAKES."

She hung up, swearing.

* * *

Cloud stared at the PHS. Yuffie'd hung up on him. Yuffie had _hung up_ on him. Yuffie had hung up on _him_!

He stared at his watch. 18:00. He was fucked. He was so fucking _fucked_ if he didn't get that ring back. By 23:00. He had to have it by 23:00, so he could drive it to the restaurant, and give specific instructions to the kitchen.

He was fucked.

Being fucked, he made a last ditch effort.

The PHS on the other line rang exactly once.

"Valentine speaking."

"Uh, Vincent, hi."

"Yes?"

"You're about the only person Yuffie listens to. Could you have her call me?"

". . .I will try."

Vincent hung up.

Cloud stared at the PHS. G_od _damn, _that's annoying!_

Minutes later, his PHS rang. He answered it immediately.

"Cloud."

"What?"

"She refuses to speak to you."

". . .Crap. Well, in that case, could you ask her to do me a favour? Tell her I left something of Tifa's in Reeve's office and absolutely gotta have it before 23 hundred."

Vincent hung up.

Cloud bit back a snarl.

* * *

Yuffie had just pulled into a drive-in movie when her PHS rang.

"Rasserfrassin' stupid head," she mumbled. "Whoever the fuck you are, you're keeping me from _Dracula_."

"It's Vincent."

Her mood brightened instantly. Who cared about Dracula from the movies when she had the real thing on the phone? "Vinnie! Hihihihihi!"

". . .Please do Cloud this favour. Apparently, he left something of Tifa's in Reeve's office."

Yuffie wasn't a stupid ninja. She put two and two together, and wouldn't you know, two and two makes four?

Words deserted her.

"Is something wrong?"

" ... HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA."

"?"

"OHMYGAWD THIS IS HILARIOUS. HE LEFT THE ENGAGEMENT RING IN REEVE'S OFFICE."

"Engagement?"

"Oh my gawd, oh my gawd. Well, if I don't get him that ring, I guess he won't get married. He really _is_ a pain."

Yuffie hung up. And then she started to review what she remembered about Reeve's security.


	3. Chapter Two

**Operation: Exploding Jellyfish**

**Chapter Two: Portuguese Man O' War**

_19:00, Edge_

The bike rumbled to a stop about three blocks from the main WRO office building.

Yuffie kicked out the stand and swung a leg over, dismounting easily. A little over a year with the bike had acclimated her to mounting and dismounting. Starting and killing the engine was as natural as breathing, now.

She slipped a couple of Materia into the Conformer, her eyes fluttering closed as she checked her boots and the location of her Magic Materia.

"Let's get this party started," she murmured. And with that, she took off down the street. Her legs automatically shifted, her muscles tensing and relaxing, as she almost unconsciously slipped into the street's walking rhythm. Despite the short shorts, crazy boots, and general physical oddness, she blended in nicely with the rest of the street.

Two buildings away from the WRO headquarters, she stopped.

She very calmly, very much in a way that people would _not_ notice, snuck around to the building's far side.

As she had known she would, she found a fire escape. Briefly, she inspected it, checking for rust or signs of obvious damage. She found none.

For an instant, she crouched, then backed up. Crouched again, then leapt into a sprint. At the perfect instant, she jumped. Her hands connected with the lowest rung on the fire escape ladder. Curling her body inwards and heaving, she flipped under the railing and onto the fire escape.

She slipped, quietly as she possibly could, up the fire escape. Her boots should have made much more noise against the metal than they actually did.

_Thank Leviathan for shinobi training_, she thought.

Once she'd reached the roof, she crouched. Her body lowered easily, leather and shoelaces creaking softly. She covered her vest's zipper track with one hand even as she yanked the pull.

From inside her wrist guards she withdrew a pair of gloves. They covered all the way up to her upper arms. She pulled the vest's hood up, sighing when she realized that she had no way to cover her shorts or legs.

Or boots.

Well, so far as she knew, Reeve hadn't invented a way to identify people by their _leg stubble_, so she was probably safe.

Probably.

She didn't like to trust "probably". Under most circumstances, if there was a "probably" involved, she got _un_involved. Right fucking quick.

Unless it looked fun.

She cracked her knuckles. _Gotta stop that— too loud._ Gauged distance, altitude, time, momentum. How she _could_ land, how she _should_ land, how she _would_ land.

And then she turned on the rock 'n roll.

Her feet carried her back a few paces. Silently, the night air rushing around her, she started to run. One foot propped up onto the roof's ledge.

Quick push. Up. Shift weight, curling legs to chest.

She easily flipped over the gap between Building One and Building Two. Her hands swung out as she caught herself on the ledge, pulling into a tight handstand— _oh Leviathan, I'm really REALLY not dressed for this— got to keep my legs low, Lord Leviathan, **don't let them see me**_— and then legs over, gently down.

She was on Rooftop Two.

Yuffie crept to the far end of the roof, making sure to stay as low to the tile as possible.

Reeve had something like fifteen guards, and at least two of them would be on the roof.

She peered over the side of the building. Reeve's office was on the top floor of the WRO Headquarters (he'd wanted it in a bunker, just to be cool and different, but that would have seemed paranoid), but she wouldn't be able to jump directly to his window.

Instead, she backed herself up again. Gave herself a running start, then took a flying leap off the building.

She didn't scream. Because her clothing was so tight, it didn't rustle as she went down. The only sounds she made were the slight creaking of leather, the sound of the wind rushing alongside the Four Point shuriken, and the slight rush of air from her lungs when she made contact with a window ledge.

She went completely, perfectly still, listening, covering her mouth and nose with her hand to muffle the sounds of breathing.

Rooftop Security Guard Number One said, "Xu? Was that just me?"

A woman's voice replied, "I didn't hear a damn thing"

"Shut up the both of you. I'm playing Solitaire."

Xu hissed, "Nida! We have a job to do! If the Boss catches you—"

Ah, office politics.

_Next thing you know, one of them's going to want his STAPLER or something._ She paused, then swung herself onto the stone outcropping beside the ledge. She would climb up, using these junctures.

And climb up she did. It left her thighs scraped, so she stopped to roll a Restore Materia along them. Blood would go a damn sight farther to identify her than leg hair would. And Reeve would have people smart enough to collect it.

She stared into the darkened window. According to the glowing Moogle Clock, this was Reeve's office.

Oh god, a glowing Moogle clock. Those were for, like, two year old girls.

And, apparently, thirty year old men.

_I always knew Reeve was a weird-o._

Her hands slid to the slim, flat piece of metal she kept in her right boot, against the outside of her calf. The metal piece slid into the gap between the window's track and the grip.

Perfect fit.

Yuffie couldn't fight down a predatory grin. With one quick jerk and a brief burst of electricity, the Tall Tim disengaged the window locks and the window slid effortlessly up.

She rolled into the room, eyes casting in the darkness for the desk. Once she'd silently made her way to the desk, the dim glow of the Moogle clock allowed her to find the lock on the third drawer on the left.

Her lockpick set withdrawn from her other gauntlet, she went to work.

Two minutes and thirty-two seconds later, she held a tiny black box in her palm.

The ring, she noted, was made out of steel.

"He should have done unclassifiable Materia. It lasts longer," she murmured.

She went back to the window.

And then she realized that while she'd been stealing the engagement ring, a thick metal plate had slid down into the window frame.

_Oh _.

That wasn't supposed to have been silent. That was supposed to have made at least a little noise.

She stared at the door. She could already see the same sort of plating sliding down.

"No. Abso-#$ing-lutely NOT."

And then she was moving. Over the desk, across the room, desperately grabbing onto the doorknob, yanking the door open. Oh crap, oh crap, the door was sticking because it couldn't open near the top.

Holy shit, she was gonna _die_!

With one last, mindless yank, the door opened just enough for her to slip through.

Right into the path of two very surprised guards.

No time to think. The Four Point shuriken slid into her grasp. She pulled her arm back and released, flinging it at the guard to her right. It knocked him back several paces, but probably didn't strike skin— she _heard_ one of the Four Point's blades collide with armour of some sort.

Plastic, too, from the sound of it.

_Kevlar? He's got_ security guards _in_ Kevlar? _Just who the hell does he think is going to be busting_ in _here?_

She moved forwards, grabbing the Four Point from where it had lodged in his flak jacket. After a hard jerk, the Four Point came free.

The other security guard brought his pistol to bear, his left leg sliding along the floor as he slipped into the basic stance.

_You've_ got _to be kidding me._

Cross body draw. Basic stance. Impossible to say who'd taught him. But there was something very... Vincenty about the way the man glared at her from behind that pistol.

_Oh #$, didn't we_ all _contribute with the WRO? Even Vincent, before he off and disappeared on us_?

Her eyes narrowed. Even if he'd been trained by Vincent— and she had no proof of that— she could take him down.

After all, he wasn't _Vincent_. More like... A mini-Vincent. And when you cast Mini on Vincent, you got...

Well, a pissed off Vincent. But he was also harmless, adorable, and armed with a tiny little pop gun that wouldn't hurt a fly if you beat the fly over the _head_ with it. Same went for the claw.

Mini-Vincent was going down.

Yuffie swept out her arm, the flat of one of the Four Point's blades connecting with the side of his head.

Mini-Vincent went down.

But Security Guard Number One was still there. And Security Guard One was still conscious, barely. He'd been playing dead.

Well, son of a bitch. Ain't that just peachy.

"We've got a B&E, intruder on the fourth floor, armed and dangerous! Requesting—"

She kicked the walkie-talkie out of his hand. "Stupid mother-#$ing idiot! You're going to have Reeve trying to like chew on my backbone or some #$ing thing and oh my gawd I am so #$ing dead."

No time, she realized. No time to chew out the idiot security guard.

The walkie-talkie went _crunch_ under her boot heel. And Leviathan above and below, but that was a satisfying sound.

No more time.

She took off down the hallway, no longer worried about keeping her steps silent.

—_Oh, and Reeve?_

—_Yeah?_

—_Do something about vents and elevator shafts. And trash chutes, laundry chutes, dumbwaiters. If it's an opening that goes from one room to another and a kid could fit through it, close it up, put in grates, do **something** about it._

—_Oh, I've already got a plan for that, kiddo._

—_And don't call me kiddo. Or I'll break into your office AND break all your bones!_

Her heartbeat pounding in her ears, she careened through the halls. It figured Vincent would have showed them how a Turk held a gun.

The explanation was simple: Leviathan hated her. Leviathan hated her with a _mad passion like whoah_.

She stopped suddenly, forced to bend slightly to accommodate inertia.

Four guards. Four. In front of her. She was so screwed. How many of them _were_ there?

No time. There were... Nine left, somewhere in the building.

She pulled herself into a forwards tumble, making sure to take out one security guard's knees. A quick stamp of her foot against his nose and he was effectively incapacitated.

Kinda hard to aim a gun when your eyes are watering and you're blacking out.

She took down another with a kick to the jaw and a forward thrust of the Four Point into the solar plexus. The Kevlar vest dulled the blow, but it was enough to wind him. Instinctively, he bent over, trying to force air into his lungs.

A crack to the centre of his back had him on the ground.

Two more. These two had been smart enough to move. One jumping backwards; the other trying to move forwards. They were going to try to trap her between them, apparently.

Forward-Moving Guard, she took out with a swift kick to the forward shin, followed by a slice to the same with her shuriken. Almost absently, she struck his right shoulder hard enough that the Four Point made a ringing sound against the plastic.

Now he was trapped on one knee, unable to lift a gun.

Backwards-Moving Guard didn't have time to blink as she flung the shuriken, taking out his right arm.

And then it was past them, onwards. She could hear footsteps in the stairwells, voices, echoing.

She looked around.

A vent. A window. A hallway. Several doors.

The vents were out, the window was out (four stories was too high, even for her). The hallway provided no cover.

She didn't have time to pick locks. She simply grabbed a doorknob and murmured, "Lightning1." The spell was weak enough that it didn't blast her backwards. The electricity jerked through the doorknob, temporarily disengaging the electric locks.

_Gawd, I love Materia._

The door clicked closed and behind her. She dove behind a desk, listening.

The footsteps and voices grew louder, closer.

"Okay, sir, we've got four down, no, SIX down, all violently, all probably quickly. This person is armed, and dangerous enough to take out six Valentine-trained."

So she'd been right, and Vincent _had_ trained these guards.

An army of Mini-Vincents. She was screwed.

"Alright, when we encounter him, don't bother trying to take him alive. Just shoot to kill. We'll figure out WHY he broke in later."

Shoot to kill.

Oh FUCK.

Almost without thinking, she dialled Vincent.

"Valentine."

"Oh god Vincent I HAVE A MAJOR PROBLEM."

In typical Vincent fashion, he said nothing.

"The security guards put out a STK on me!"

"What."

He sounded incredulous. Well, as close as he ever came to sounding incredulous, which featured the addition of a slightly surprised tone.

It still hadn't quite come out a question. But that was Vincent for you.

"No, Vin, they really did. Oh my gawd they're actually trying to actually _kill me_ with guns and I _hate_ guns because outrunning guns is really hard!"

"And what would you have me do?"

"No, no, wait. See. I know I can take the army of Mini-Vincents. I just need to calm down. And I'm not calming down!"

"So calm down."

"I CAN'T YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!"

Vincent was silent for a long while. While he was quiet, she tried to slow her breathing and listen.

"Jack? Check the roof. He may have already gone up. He couldn't have gone down. Dan? Check the security room. Tom, Lou, check the doors here."

Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

"What would you do if Tifa refused Cloud's proposal?"

Yuffie blinked. The image of Tifa giving back this stupid steel ring, throwing it right in Cloud's face, popped into her mind.

Tifa wouldn't. She wouldn't.

But Cloud had the baggage of six airports and twelve cruise liners, plus carry-on and confiscated items, plus the contents of the "lost and found" offices.

But Tifa would say yes, it was all but certain.

But.

Oh god.

"!" Yuffie forced out. "Just !"

Vincent said nothing.

After she vented the pure wrath and terror that thought provoked in her, words came easier. Of course, that could have been because there was only one punishment worthy of such a crime, really.

"Oh my Gawd! I'd have to eat her spleen!"

She could _hear_ him blinking through the phone. His silence was also audible.

"Vincent, I have to get out of here! I have to get out so I can eat her spleen!"

She didn't close the connection. She might need Vincent later. Somehow. Instead, she very carefully tied the PHS to her head with her headband.

A rather primitive sort of hands-free calling, but it would do. Note to self: she really needed to get one of those headset things.

"Okay, let's get this party started."

She cracked her knuckles (_Need to stop that! Too much noise!_) and glared at the door.

Within an instant, she had the Four Point out and was over the desk.

"Lightning2!" She cried.

The door flew open, slamming into a surprised guard. It caught him just above his ear.

"Fuck," he said mildly as he went to one knee.

He struggled to stand.

She slipped the Status Materia from her left wrist guard, replacing it with a Command Materia— Triple.

"Lightning3," she cried as she burst through the door, "Lightning3, Lightning3!"

The for-all-intents-and-purposes-Lightning9 took him out. She turned to see three guards emerge from the stairs, as well as four others burst towards her.

Seven.

Seven guards. She used another Triple-Cast, this time of Fire3. It seared one of them, burning his right arm something awful. Third degree burns, she knew, and possibly fatal.

One down, six to go.

A quick roll, pulling the Four Point close to her chest, got her out of Guard Number Two's range. The Four Point swung out, zipping through the air, striking Guard Number Two and another. It didn't do major damage to either of them, so she settled for catching the shuriken on rebound and striking again. Three more hits per guard. They both went down.

Four.

Guard Number Four aimed a rifle at her. He relaxed; his arms and the gun seeming to meld together.

He would be an excellent shot, she realized.

She flipped backwards, began to zigzag. Anything to make her movements harder to track and predict.

Guards Number Five and Six brought their pistols up while Guard Number Seven tried to cover Guard Four.

Yeah, like Guard Four was going to get the chance to fire at her!

She raced towards them, the Four Point sliding from her hands. The barrel of Guard Seven's gun clattered to the floor.

Crap. She'd meant to take out the rifle, but whatever. She'd eliminate what she could.

Guards Five and Six were trying to circle around her, she realized. Well, that wasn't happening.

Wait a second. She was _wasting time_. The police were going to arrive soon, and so would Reeve.

Her gaze turned to the wall. She made for it, stepping _on_ Guard Number Six to reach it. Her foot made contact. She didn't bother trying to plant it— she just kept moving, changing direction about ninety degrees.

She ran sideways along the wall, hauling ass to the stairwell. She yanked the door open, jumped onto the railing and skidded down. The three guards followed.

Three flights of stairs. No elevator. Oh, thank Leviathan for that lack of an elevator. At least they wouldn't be able to get in front of her.

She jumped onto the next rail, sliding down it, too. She jumped rail after rail.

This was really one of the stupidest things she'd ever done. She could have easily called Reeve and asked him to alert the watch dogs that she'd be stopping by.

So why hadn't she?

No time to wonder about that.

One of them was above her and to the side. He was relaxing again, his posture confident.

She didn't hear it. She didn't see it. She didn't know it was coming. It was like running into a brick wall, except this time, the brick wall was running into her.

Just... SLAM. And then... PAIN LIKE FIRE.

And falling.

Her body impacted with the steps. She knew how to fall, and twisted and turned and banged both sides of her rib cage against the stairs. More pain. Now her entire torso hurt. Breathing hurt.

She rolled, picked herself up from the stairs. Oh Leviathan, it hurt to move.

But she had to keep going. Had to.

Yuffie slipped down the stairs, out the door to the hallway, and through the halls. Each step, each breath, was like a Fire3 spell cast on her spine. She managed to get to the back door.

Through the back door, scurrying in the alleys like some sort of rat. Not even a block to the _Black Shadow_, but it felt like five thousand miles. Fire burned in her back, in both sides. Her shoulders heaved, irritating her body further, and she gasped for breath. The fire in her lungs intensified.

She didn't bother to whimper. Instead, she slipped onto the bike, kicked up the kickstand, and started the _Black Shadow_.

She almost seemed to go limp as soon as she sat, but she revved the engine and peeled off the street.

The main highways weren't particularly clogged. Then again, this _was_ a Tuesday. But still... Something was wrong...

No, she wasn't going to look a gift Chocobo in the beak. She focused on driving and moving as little as possible.

Gawd, she was never _ever_ driving injured again.

She made a hard left turn, gasping at the pain the turn caused, her eyes flooding with tears at the pain the gasp caused.

She flicked her wrist, fingers tightening. The bike sped up. She had to get to Seventh Heaven as soon as possible, before she passed out from blood loss and crashed and died.

Minutes later, she pulled over beside Seventh Heaven.

"Praise... be to Leviathan..." she murmured as she stumbled up the sidewalk. She nearly tripped as she went up the steps.

The hand that grasped the doorknob, she perceived dimly, was covered in blood.

She stepped into the kitchen, where Cloud was waiting anxiously.

"Yuffie!" He said. "Holy shit, kid, what happened?"

She took as deep a breath as she could. "Don't look (breath) a gift Cho— (breath) —cobo in (breath) the beak."

Yuffie had never felt so proud handing over her loot as she did when she saw the look on his face as he saw the little black box.

"Milkshakes," Cloud said, taking the box from her outstretched hand.

She smiled at him, ignoring the black spots that danced in front of her eyes.

"Do it," she told him as she headed for the infirmary.

She didn't reach it. The blood loss was too much, she was too tired. She collapsed against the stairwell, within view of the medical room Tifa kept fully stocked for situations much like the current one. Her torso ached, and she moved a hand to her back. It came away covered in slippery dark wetness.

_Don't worry about it,_ she told herself. _So sleepy... I'll wake up and everything will feel way better and there will be jasmine tea and—_

"Yuffie!" The voice was familiar. Deep, sexy. Even if it sounded distinctly worried at the moment. "Yuffie, stay awake."

Familiar. Sexy. Stern. Gorgeous.

Who the hell was taking to her?

"'m 'wake. Wan' go—" she paused, taking in a painful breath, "back 'a sleep."

"Yuffie, sleep is not in your best interests. Can you stand?"

"Did for 'while. Too tired."

"How did you _know_?"

"She's bleeding heavily. I could smell it," said the stern voice.

"This is my fault... If I hadn't stayed..."

"You leave them alone frequently."

"...she's not a ninja."

_WHAT! HOW **DARE** HE!_

Her eyes snapped open. She sucked in a deep, rattling breath and growled, "—am _too_ ninja, fucking _Isutanaa_!"

Blue worried eyes stared down at her. "No. Yuffie, I was talking about Marlene and Denzel. He says she's not one."

She nodded, even if she wasn't entirely sure what she was nodding about.

"Yuffie. Stand up."

Her head rolled over to face the speaker. Dark hair, red eyes.

Creepy eyes, sorta, but pretty, too.

"Can't," she whimpered.

He scooted over to the other side of her. One hand slid between her back and the wall, clutching at her skin. The other hand, this one cold, so cold, swept underneath her knees. And then she was being lifted into the air, carried through the hallways.

She heard a door slam open. "Cloud! Where the hell is Yuffie!"

"'m here," she mumbled.

"Cloud, do you know where Yuffie is?"

The voice was familiar, but she was so tired...

"Yuffie, stay awake. Don't go to sleep."

"'m tired," she whimpered. "Can' breathe."

It was true. She wasn't breathing halfway normal anymore, and she knew it.

It was worse than the corset she'd worn at that Deathnight party the year before.

The stern voice demanding that she stay awake went silent.

In fact, everything went silent. And dark.


	4. Chapter Three

Notes: For all you US readers, 50 kg is 110 lbs. 55 is 120. Yuffie is actually 47 kg (104 lbs). She's 5'3".

**Operation: Exploding Jellyfish**

**Chapter Three: Bombs and Butterflies, Bikinis and Beaches**

When she came to, she realized that she had the single worst headache of her life, felt like she was about to puke, and that her eyes had crusted over with something.

When she got the gunk out of her eyes and opening them didn't hurt her head like whoah, she found that she was in the infirmary.

She was also, she noticed, attached to a blood transfusion machine.

She tried to say, "What's going on?"

It came out as a dry, cracked yelp.

Tifa's voice, a warm contralto, filled her ears. "You lost a lot of blood, Yuffie. You're lucky we keep a supply of O Pos."

"Water. Please, love of god, WATER," Yuffie replied.

Frankly, she didn't care if Tifa'd had to dance naked on a bridge somewhere to keep her alive, she just wanted food and water.

And maybe for her lungs to quit burning and for breathing to not be a total bitch. Yeah, definitely that. The breathing thing needed to get a hell of a lot easier.

Tifa smiled and handed her a bottle of water. "Blood loss can result in severe dehydration."

Yuffie accepted the bottle and drained half of it in one swallow. She stared at the now half-full bottle.

She'd needed that.

"Whoah."

"Yeah. The surgery probably took a lot out of you, too. Two gunshots wounds to the back... Once you're finished, I'll patch up your ribs. You broke some ribs on both sides of the ribcage. And while I'm bandaging your ribs, you can tell me all about how you got hurt."

Much as she wanted the awesome cool green bandages, she shook her head. "Nuh-uh. I promised I'd watch Denzel and Marlene for you tonight, and I will."

Tifa smiled at her, that tender, loving smile that Yuffie wished to Leviathan her mother hadn't smiled before she'd died. "I can't leave you in the same house as Reeve, not in good conscience. He wants to strangle you."

"Let me watch Denzel and Marlene, and it won't be a problem. I promise. Now, go get ready for that hot date. I'll get Vincent to glare at Reeve until he bandages my ribs."

Tifa watched her, biting her lower lip.

"Do it," Yuffie urged. "Go on the date. When the blood transfusion finishes, I'm sure I'll be yippee-skippy-good-as-new!"

That biting motion turned into a smile. Tifa's eyes narrowed. "You're being so sweet. Is there something you don't want me to know, or something?"

"It's nothing like that! I made a promise, and I'm GOING to keep it!"

"Are you _sure_ that's it?"

"Tifa," Yuffie growled, "if you don't shut up and go on your date, I am going to have to beat you."

"You're hiding something."

"Yes, I am. And I'm not telling you, because I don't want to. We're at an impasse here. Now shut up and go get ready."

The smile vanished. "No. Not until you tell me what you're hiding."

"I'm not going to, Tifa. And I've been stripped naked and hung from Da Chao, so don't think you're going to convince me to talk."

"Yuffie."

"No."

Tifa took the water bottle away. "Tell me."

"No. Go on your date."

"Tell me."

Tifa poured the water into the sink.

Yuffie felt her heart go down the drain with the water.

"Let's compromise. I'll tell you. _After_ your date."

"Deal. Just... Promise me you won't hurt yourself any worse."

A wide grin stretched across her face. "What's going to happen? Vincent won't let Reeve kill me, and Marlene knows better than to punch me while I'm lying on the couch."

"You promise to call me if anything _happens_, right?"

"Absolutely," she lied.

There would be no need, after all. Nothing would happen, right?

"Go get Reeve. Tell him I'll explain if he bandages my ribs."

Tifa, still smiling, left the room.

* * *

She stared at the box of bandages in Reeve's hands. They were _white_. The _white_ bandages were for use only in case of emergency, when they had run out of other bandages. The white bandages were actually a form of tape.

"Reeve, these are the wrong bandages. You're supposed to use the _green_ bandages."

"More Wutaian superstition?" He asked.

"No, stupid. The white bandages are tape. The green bandages are self-adhesive cloth using body heat to stay on."

He raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter that much?"

Ooh, eyebrow-raising? Well, two could play at that game. She raised an eyebrow, too. "Yes, Reeve, it does, because tape _hurts_, and I've got two gunshot wounds, and broken ribs, and I don't want any more pain, thanks."

He sighed and headed back to the bandage cabinet, this time coming back with the right bandages.

"The things I do for you guys..." He sighed.

Yuffie stuck out her tongue. "Not like we don't help you back, Reeve. Who's the one who helped you design your security system, huh?"

"And you also broke through it. You said you'd tell me why if I bandaged your ribs. Well, I'm bandaging your ribs, so start talking."

"Okay, you know the engagement ring that Cloud left in your desk?"

And that was all she had to say. Reeve slapped his forehead, groaning. "I'd completely forgotten that he was dropping by to get it... I've gotta get my head out of the paperwork sometime."

"Yeah, Reeve, that might not be a bad idea. What happened, anyway?"

He looked at the floor, mumbling in a very small voice, "I told the secretary to ask him to come back later... and then come back later... and then just go away." He looked back up, meeting her eyes, then looked away. "Hey, I was _working_! That stuff's gotta get done, Cloud-emergency or no Cloud-emergency!"

Yuffie snickered. "So, you forgive me for kicking your guards' asses and breaking through your security and shit?"

He sighed and nodded. "I understand. I wish you could have called, but that'd be expecting something like sanity from you and Cloud."

She glared.

Reeve opened the box of bandages. "Shirt off, kiddo. Let's get this done and get you occupied so you don't drive us crazy."

She grinned, lifting her arms to fold her hands behind her head. The motion made her wince, and she dropped them as quickly as she dared. "I'm watching the kids tonight."

"That's a scary thought."

"Shut up! You're obsessed with Moogles!"

"It's still a scary thought. You, watching kids." He shuddered, grinning.

Stupid joker, she thought, more than a little resentful.

It wasn't like she was irresponsible.

...Okay, so she was. _And_ she had a foul mouth, no proclivities towards stealing, and distinct skills with arson, burglary, blackmail, light explosives, heavy explosives, and auto theft. She had no proclivities about using those, either, or about beating the crap out of people who pissed her off.

Not exactly the best role model. But hey, she was better than _Cloud_, right?

"Well, the kids have to go to sleep sometime, kiddo. You, unfortunately, regard sleep as a waste of time."

"The instant they figure out how to remove memories from peoples' brains, I am _so_ deleting your memories of everything I ever said to Cait Sith," she grumbled as she pulled her shirt off.

Her abs and ribcage were slathered in vivid bruises. It was way completely totally grossness nasty. She didn't want to look at her ribs anymore.

She looked away.

Reeve made a hissing sound. "Jenova on a pogo stick, Yuffster, what the hell did you _do_!"

"Broke my ribs and got shot, Reeve. No big. Really. I mean, Tifa's been electrocuted nearly to death and I've been hanged from Da Chao and it's really not that bad. Really."

No, it wasn't that bad. Except it hurt like a sonovabitch.

Vincent walked in. He saw the ribs and stopped short.

"Uh, yeah, hi. You gonna make sure Reeve doesn't kill me?"

He nodded, once, and moved closer.

"How?" He asked.

She shrugged, then winced again. "I'm not sure, actually. I mean, one minute, I'm sliding down the railing, the next, bam, I'm rolling down the stairs. I'm not even really sure how I managed to actually, like, _drive_." She chuckled. "Then again, _nin_ means "endurance", as well as the ability to hide. Enduring pain is sort of what we do."

Reeve sighed. "I'll talk to the one who shot you. Lift your arms."

She did so, hissing in pain. Gawd, it hurt. Hurt like a sonovabitch. She was never ever breaking her ribs ever again. Ever.

Vincent stood behind Reeve, his arms folded across his chest.

Now, Vincent always had a closed posture. But he only ever aimed himself at others in closed posture when he was getting ready to—

Oh gawd, Vincent was glaring at Reeve's back. Yuffie could practically _hear_ Reeve's shirt melting from the laser beam Death Glare (TM).

"He's glaring, isn't he?" Reeve muttered.

"Yup."

Reeve wound a bandage around her torso, wrapping it around her aching ribs, occasionally touching her ribs to help position her.

Vincent stood behind him, making slight glottal noises every now and again. Every time he made a noise, Yuffie nearly fell over from shock. Sure, Cloud had told her that Vincent had told him, "Hmph," during that entire Geostigma crisis thing in Ajit, but she had always thought Cloud had been making some sort of assumption.

And here Vincent was, looking over Reeve's shoulder and making vaguely disapproving noises.

Vincent's right hand snaked out, slithering to touch one of the knots. He tugged.

"What are you doing?" Reeve asked.

Yuffie fought down the urge to glomp the thirty-year-old sweetie at the puzzled look on his face. He looked like somebody had snuck up behind him, cast Confu, and then repeatedly beat him about the head and shoulders with a live fish screaming, "Namu amita bul namu amita bul namu amita bul namu amita bul namu amita bul namu amita bul namu amita bul."

"Check this."

Reeve checked the knot.

There had been nothing wrong with it.

Reeve's right eyebrow twitched.

He didn't say anything, though. Just sat there and worked on her ribs, trying his best to ignore Vincent's noises.

Noises. Vincent's noises. She could have laughed herself into a funny farm at the insanity of it. Vincent didn't make noise, and yet now he was.

The hand sheathed in fingerless gloves— a long, spider hand, she thought— reached out again, stopping Reeve's bandaging and lightly touching the cloth.

"Check it," Vincent said.

Reeve checked the knot. Again, there was nothing wrong with it.

The eyebrow twitching started again, but Reeve kept his cool.

Yuffie had to admire him for that. If she'd been in his situation, she'd have smacked Vincent a good one several times already.

The next time Vincent demanded Reeve check a perfectly good knot, Reeve sucked in a breath through his teeth.

The fourth time, Reeve's brow furrowed, he inhaled in a hiss, and his hands paused, trembling, for about ten seconds.

The fifth time, Reeve snapped.

"Vincent, do you mind? I _did_ take basic training. I know how to bandage ribs. Unless you think _you_ can do better with only one hand?"

She heard more than saw Vincent stiffen at the remark.

"And don't you think you're a little out of touch with, you know, the medicine field, what with your injuries healing almost as fast as you get them and being able to regenerate vital organs and all?"

Vincent said nothing. But it was a hard silence, an angry silence. It wasn't in his nature to answer a personal attack of that sort.

So instead he glared.

Reeve turned around, glaring at Vincent.

She took as deep a breath as she could. "Guys, don't start this kind of shit, okay? Just don't."

"I didn't start it," Reeve said. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Vincent.

This was almost cute. Except not, because Vincent was scary when he was angry and she didn't want to think about the fact that there was a _physical weight_ in the air.

She took in another deep breath, wincing at the pain. "GUYS. Vincent, _stop being a dickhead_. Reeve, you think maybe he's got a point doubting the fine motor coordination of a man who is thirty years old, keeps a glowing Moogle clock in his office, and _finger paints_?"

He glared.

"Vincent, look, you're not doing much but being a dick and pissing Reeve off, so maybe you should just head out, okay? Make sure Denzel isn't doing anything stupid like putting DVDs in the microwave. I think I told him about the light show you get if you do that for ten seconds..."

Vincent just stood and looked at her, watching her face, watching her breathing, obviously weighing whether to stay or go, before turning and sweeping from the room.

Yuffie sighed. "Well, he's gone. Why don't we get back to my ribs now, okay?"

Reeve turned and looked at her, then sighed also.

They went back to her ribs.

* * *

Vincent left the medical room and meandered through the hallways until he found the kitchen.

As Yuffie had suspected, Denzel was watching the microwave.

Within was a DVD, Vincent noticed.

The timer on the microwave read 00:04. Vincent blinked, then stared at the lightshow in the microwave.

He watched as the DVD began to melt, and electricity crackled inside the microwave.

He shoved Denzel aside. His right index finger jabbed against the Stop/Cancel button. He slammed the door release button, his claw reaching in and easily scooping the melting, crackling DVD from the turntable.

Privately, he thanked Leviathan and Da Chao that he'd chosen to use a Mastered Lightning and a Mastered Absorb Materia in the linked slots of his armour. Else the shock that jolted down his body might actually do damage.

He threw the DVD into a trashcan and turned to face Denzel.

The boy didn't even look guilty. Those blue eyes (_So like Cloud_, Vincent thought before he could stop himself) watched him with a frank and almost apathetic reserve. Almost as if Denzel were judging him.

No, that was nonsense. Denzel was a mere boy of twelve. What did he know of life, of struggle, of sacrifice? Surely Denzel wouldn't try and judge him?

"Tell me why," Vincent said. He kept his voice soft— people always responded to his voice when he kept it soft, so why should he trouble himself to raise his voice?— but he made his demand clear.

Denzel looked at the floor. "Yuffie said it was cool and wouldn't hurt the microwave."

"You listened?"

He continued to look at the floor. "You'd never believe this, but yeah, I did. It sounded like something that would really work."

Vincent looked once at the DVD in the trash and said, "Don't do that again."

Denzel nodded.

Vincent, being himself, figured that he had the boy beaten.

* * *

"So, how'd you get hurt?" Denzel asked as he helped her settle on the couch.

"None of your beeswax, twerp," she replied.

He poked her.

She bit back a scream.

"That was evil, _evil_!" She hissed.

Denzel shrugged.

"Evil, evil, evil!"

"How'd you get hurt?"

"I fell down some stairs. Now bring me the phone." It wasn't a lie. She had fallen down some stairs.

"Not very ninja-ish to fall down stairs. Are you SURE you're a ninja?"

"Oh goddamn YES I'm sure I'm a ninja, now bring me the GODDAMN PHONE."

She felt like Cid. She was reasonably sure she _sounded_ like Cid. Maybe she should stop practically _living_ at Shera's place whenever she left Wutai, which was as often as she could.

Denzel went and grabbed the phone. He brought it to her, slapping it into her extended palm.

"Now bring me the phonebook or your address book or what-the-fuck-ever Tifa uses to list important numbers."

He brought back a tiny green book. Somebody had written _Phone Numbers_ on it in a neat, round hand.

Tifa, of course.

She flipped it open, found a Wutaian take away listed, and dialled the number.

"Silent Sun Take Away," a Wutaian-accented voice said in Midgarian, then repeated in Wutaian.

Yuffie grinned, responding in Wutaian. She placed an order, looking at the folded up take away menu in the address book.

The woman on the other line sounded delighted to hear somebody speaking real, decent, Wutaian.

Yuffie couldn't blame her.

About fifteen minutes later, Denzel had to pry the phone out of her hands.

"Tell me you at least ordered dinner," Denzel demanded.

"Yes, I at least ordered dinner. And no, I'm not telling you what I ordered for you guys. It's a surprise."

Denzel just sort of stared, then shook his head and left.

Yuffie didn't bother trying to call him back. It wasn't worth the effort.

Reeve wandered in. "Hey, Yuffie? You ordered dinner yet?"

"_Yes_, I've ordered dinner, Reeve. I ordered it from Silent Sun, and I'm not telling you what I ordered, ha-ha."

"It's not too spicy for the kids, is it?"

"Will you _trust_ me? I'm not stupid. I promise, none of it's too spicy. And it's not too out-there, either. I didn't even order any _sushi_, okay!"

Reeve held up both hands, his expression both apologetic and angry. "Don't bite my head off about it."

"Don't take me for an idiot."

"Okay, I won't." He settled into the chair beside the couch. "So, how exactly do you plan to stay occupied?"

"Horror movie marathon."

"Won't the screaming bother your ribs?"

She shrugged, winced. "Maybe. But I don't think so. Horror movies don't bother that much, actually. Heh, my _life_ was a horror movie."

Reeve grinned at her. "You know that Cloud's into action and Tifa's into comedy, right? There won't be any horror movies in this house."

Yuffie smiled, making sure to do so sweetly. "I know that, but do you think maybe you could, oh, I don't know, _rent_ some? Horror movies make me feel better."

He sighed.

She fixed him with a Look. "Come on, don't be a girl about it. I promise we don't have to start until the kids are in bed."

Reeve Looked right back at her.

Their Looks competed, vying in the air for the title of Most Effective Invisible Death Ray. Had Vincent been around, the two Looks would have been nothing, totally and completely nothing, but Vincent wasn't here, and oh boy did Reeve have a glare.

_It's gotta be the moustache_, Yuffie thought. _Gotta be._

She continued her glare. Her pathetic broken ribs, gorgeous grey eyes, and history as a ninja would help her. It would have to. Reeve might have a moustache, but come on, she was a _ninja_!

"You're not going to do it, are you?" She asked.

"Nope."

"Well, then will you at least give me something for my ribs? It hurts like fuck!"

"Yuffie, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Please, Reeve? It hurts so bad... It hurts to _breathe_, Reeve!"

"Yuffie—"

"Just a little something! C'mon, Reeve, just a little! I don't even care WHAT it is, Reeve, you could shoot, like, IBUPROFEN or something into me, just give me SOMETHING, please for the love of Leviathan!"

"Yuffie—"

Her muscles spasmed. She clutched her left side, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Leviathan," she hissed through the pain.

Reeve left the room. He returned with a medical box in his hands.

"How much you weigh, fifty kilograms? Fifty-five?"

"Fifty sounds about right..."

She wasn't fifty, and there was no way she was fifty five. At all. Ugh, if she was fifty, she needed to lose weight. But oh well.

"Don't tell Vincent about this, okay? He'll KILL me."

The needle jabbed into her arm. She grinned up at him at the precious inflow of pain-take-away-ing fluids.

"Your secret's safe with me!"

"He's going to kill me for this."

Reeve cleaned up and left the room. A little while later, she heard the front door slam.

* * *

A knock sounded at the door. Yuffie forced herself to stand. She shouldn't have, she knew, but the knock was so soft that she doubted anyone else had heard it.

Thank Leviathan for Reeve and drugs.

She made her way to the front door, turning the key and unlocking it.

The door opened to reveal a tiny Wutaian woman.

"This Seventh Heaven House? Ti Fa's house?" The tiny woman asked, her arms full of bags.

Yuffie looked at the other woman, even shorter and tinier than she herself was, and nodded, then realized that the woman couldn't see her over the order. "Yes, this is Tifa's place. Here, let me take some of that."

The woman peered up at her over the brown bags. Her brows furrowed. She exclaimed, "You aren't Ti Fa!" in a rapid flow of Wutaian syllables.

Yuffie barely recognized the accent. This little middle-aged woman was from Thai-Wu, the southern most portion of Wutai.

"No, I'm not," Yuffie replied, switching to Wutaian. "My apologies, I am... watching Tifa's house while she is away. She's gone out for the night, and the children are hungry. Please, ma'am, let your granddaughter carry some of that."

Thank Leviathan for Reeve and drugs.

"You from Da Chao Pinnacle!" The woman gasped, this time in Midgarian. And then she switched back to Wutaian. "You came from Leviathan's City? From the Lotus? You are the only one I've met from the Lotus!"

...Aaaand back to Midgarian: "You only one from Pinnacle! I seen too many from Southland, some from Mountains, but none from Pinnacle! Or you born in East, talk like Pinnacle?"

The drugs were making Yuffie's head hurt, and the rapid changing of languages wasn't helping. _Come on, lady, just pick a language and stick with it._ "I was born in Leviathan's City, yes. Gracious Water-God, grandmother, let me carry that! How much?"

But the woman refused to answer. She simply stood on the porch and tapped her foot.

Yuffie, sighing, switched to the Thai-Wu dialect. "Please, honoured elder one, let this unworthy granddaughter carry some of that!"

The woman's face brightened, no other way to describe it, and she offered some of the bags to Yuffie.

Yuffie took them and turned. "The kitchen is this way, honoured elder one."

And then she ran into another brick wall. She stumbled back, looking up.

Vincent stood with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed. He was glaring at her.

Vincent, Yuffie's drug-dazed brain decided, was very good at glaring. And also very sexy when he was doing it to her and not wearing the cape.

"Yuffie, why are you carrying?" He asked. His voice was soft, deep, smooth like spider silk in that beautiful-dangerous tone that meant she was in serious trouble.

"She not carry?" Asked Cute Middle-Aged Lady.

His eyes narrowed even further, then finally widened to their usual position. The red glow filled her with the need to move back just a little farther.

"No," he told Cute Middle-Aged Lady in Wutaian, "she is not supposed to carry things."

And with that, he took the bags from Yuffie and turned on his heel, carrying them to the kitchen.

Yuffie followed, Cute Middle-Aged Lady a pace behind her.

Cute Middle-Aged Lady made a snorting sound and switched to Wutaian. "And why not? She's young and strong. Is she pregnant? Is that it? Are you getting her in the habit of not carrying now so she won't hurt the baby later?"

Vincent stood still for a moment, just an instant, and then continued moving.

"That's not it at all," she forced herself to say, once she had recovered from the shock and her anticipation of Vincent actually saying something. "I'm not pregnant! I'm just... uh, banged-up a little."

Telling a middle-aged Wutaian woman that she had four broken ribs and two gunshot wounds was comparable to suicide. You simply did not confess weakness like that to middle-aged Wutaian women. Not if you wanted to spend the next few months in relative comfort _without_ having tea poured down your throat and being fussed over and scolded.

She liked tea. She really did. But she had broken her ribs once during her journey, and she had spent the next four months under Chekhov's frenetic care. Shake had helped nurse her, and those had been the worst four months of her life.

She had run away, back to the Western Continent, and a year later found AVALANCHE.

"Ohhh," hummed the middle-aged Wutaian lady. "I see. Banged-up a little, hm? Does he play rough? Is it a height issue? Or are you just irritating?"

Yuffie gritted her teeth. What was it about tiny women from Thai-Wu in their mid-forties that enabled them to automatically hit sore spots? She would have sworn in Leviathan's Court that they all had some sort of Emotional Accuracy Stat +500 Materia equipped.

"He and I aren't like that. He just feels responsible--- wait, no, actually, I have no idea why he's here. We're just friends, sort of, except he never calls," and her tongue felt like Cloud's case full of Huge Materia, why was her tongue so heavy? "And he's here because I got hurt a little and that's IT, okay, he has almost nothing to do with this, he wasn't even _there_ at the time, Leviathan GAWD!"

Thank Leviathan for Reeve and drugs? Maybe not, she decided as she sank to her liquid jelly quivering sleepy heavy knees on the kitchen floor.

Her head slumped against her chest and her eyes were so heavy, so heavy, so heavy. She felt like keeping them open was like trying to lift the Pagoda with one hand. Impossible, heavy, painful, heavy. Her eyelids weighed five hundred thousand kilos and her mouth was drier than dust and her tongue was like this dry, dead snake in her mouth and she would just REST her eyes, just for a MINUTE.

Someone jerked on her shoulder. "How banged-up, Lady Kisaragi?" The woman demanded. "Tell me the truth!"

"Fuh brok'n ribs, tw' t' 'side, 'n tw' gunshot wounds t' m'back."

"Lord Leviathan," the woman hissed. "Lady Kisaragi, you--- I--- how are you _standing_!"

Yuffie yawned. "Nin."

"Nin. Endurance? You idiot. You're standing because of _pride_! Pride! Prideful, foolish girl." And then the woman sighed. "Just like both your parents. You've probably never heard the stories. But Leviathan knows _I_ have."

"'hov?" Yuffie asked. "'hov-obaasan? This's Edge! How c'me you're in Edge?"

"I'm not Chekhov, dear. That's my aunt. I'm Chekhai."

"Chekhai," she mumbled. "Chekhai... Chekhov's niece?"

She felt the touch of cool metal against her cheek, and Vincent's voice murmured, "How bad? Can you tell?"

"I think she has a fever, but that may be her body trying to resist the tranquilizers. Whatever you used on her---"

"---I had nothing to do with that."

"Thank Leviathan for Reeve and drugs!"

The cool metal stopped moving. "I'm going to kill him," Vincent growled. "I'm going to _kill_ him."

"Don't say things you don't mean," Chekhai's voice snapped. "If you were so slack as to allow him to drug her this heavily, you don't have the right to complain!"

"'cept maybe not," Yuffie continued to explain, "'cos this is making me sleepy and sleep," she yawned.

Vincent mumbled, "Esuna," and all the tiredness began to leech away, falling straight out of her bones.

Unfortunately, the pain came back. At first, she wasn't entirely aware of it. And then the world became ridiculously clear, the pain especially so.

The 'toxins' came rushing up the back of her throat. She made a noise, covering her mouth.

Vincent produced a bowl, placed it in her lap.

She bent over, wincing, her eyes filled with tears, and vomited up the tranquilizer serum that hadn't yet entered her bloodstream. With it came blood, of course, that had been 'tainted' by the tranquilizer.

She wiped her mouth. "Ugh."

Vincent took the bowl from her and dropped a bottle of water in her lap. "Rehydrate."

And then he strode from the room.

Chekhai smiled. "That's a handsome one. You should snatch him up."

"We're not like that. How much for the food?"

Chekahi looked over at her, then shook her head. "For the Lady of Wutai and Master of the Pagoda? I may charge nothing." She withdrew a warfan from her left sleeve.

_Snickt!_

The warfan slid open.

"I offer you my services and the services of my family, should you ever require them, Lady Kisaragi. Yours to command, always and forever."

"Mine to obey," Yuffie managed, taking the warfan from Chekhai. "Always and forever, sworn in the name of Leviathan, witnessed by the Daughter of Da Chao."

"So do I swear."

Chekhai began to carry boxes of food to the dining room table. After the food, she set the places at the table, including the tea bowls that Yuffie had started storing in the coffee cup cabinet.

"You don't have to do that," she told Chekhai.

"I feel that I should. How many, exactly?"

"Uhh, there's Denzel, Marlene, Reeve, Vincent and me... So that's... uh, five of us. I think you set too many."

"Yes, I did. Three too many, and that's not even filling every chair. You have a large dining table."

"AVALANCHE," Yuffie replied. "Tifa is the Tifa from AVALANCHE."

"Ah, AVALANCHE. Well---"

But Chekhai got no further. Marlene came rushing into the room.

"Vincent said Reeve made you sick!" She demanded. "He didn't really, did he?"

"Vincent _said_ something?" Yuffie replied, bewildered.

"Did he really make you sick?"

"Yes, he really made me sick. He was just trying to make me better, but Reeve's a dummy sometimes."

"C'n I give you a hug?"

She spread her arms, fighting back the wince. "Do your worst, kiddo."

Marlene did her worst. Yuffie didn't gasp or cry, but gawd, it hurt something awful. She didn't let Marlene know. It would probably scar her for life or something.

"Thanks, kiddo. That makes me feel way better. You should be, like, a doctor when you grow up."

"A doctor? Really?"

"Way totally, sunshine."

"Way totally? You promise?"

Yuffie grinned. "Absolutely. You'd be the greatest doctor ever. Get to wear a white coat and shout at stupid people and stitch 'em up and make 'em take bad-tasting medicine. That'd be some serious fun, huh?"

"I could make Denzel take yucky cough medicine and he'd have to 'cuz I'd be his doctor!" Marlene giggled.

"Totally! And he'd hate it and try and cough it up so you'd make him take more and then the nurses would hold him down and MAKE him swallow it!"

The two of them started conjecturing more and more ridiculous doctor situations, culminating in four burly nurses sitting on Reeve and giving him his rabies shot. Yuffie was reasonably sure that Marlene didn't know what rabies was, and equally sure that Eastern medicine didn't require rabies shots for humans, but hey, whatever! It kept Marlene laughing and not hugging her, and that was the important part (especially the laughing).

"Where _is_ Reeve, anyway?" Yuffie asked. "I wanna see Vincent kick his ass--- butt!"

"Reeve's at the movie renting place. I wanted to go, but he said he wasn't renting Marlene 'n Denzel movies, he was renting grown up movies. How come you get to watch grown up movies and I don't!"

Yuffie blinked. The kid could switch topics without taking a breath. That took talent. Talent she'd thought only she possessed.

_Must be a kid thing_, she decided. "Uh, Marls? I _am_ a grown-up. I'm eighteen, 'member?"

"But it's not fair!"

"But it _is_ fair, sunshine. I'm eighteen, now."

Except it wasn't. She'd been watching 'grown up' movies from Denzel's age or younger.

Not that she was going to tell Marlene that. It'd start something she just didn't have the energy to finish, and might even put Ideas in the kid's head. Ideas with a capital I, Cloud had explained to Yuffie some time ago, would be very bad for Yuffie's health if Marlene started to get them.

Yuffie was making damn sure Marlene didn't get any from _her_.

"Aww, how come you gotta be older 'n me! You're too COOL to be a grown up!"

Yuffie grinned. "So's I can save the world, dummy. How's your math coming?"

"I hates it. Math is stupid. But I gotta have math so's I can add up bar tabs 'n stuff."

Yuffie shrugged. "I use most of my math to add up how much I've picked from people's pockets. ...Er, I used to. Now I use it to add up how much I'm spending on gas for the bike."

"D'you like your bike?"

"I totally love it. You were way right. Motorcycles are the SHIT, Marls OHGAWDDON'TTELLTIFAISAIDTHAT."

Marlene giggled just as somewhere in the house a door slammed open and Reeve shouted, "Luuuuuuuuucy, I'm hoooooooooooome!"

She could just imagine Vincent twitching. Thanks to her referring to Lucrecia as "that Lucy-whatever woman", Vincent was now reduced to a Berserked, twitching SHAMBLES of a man whenever he heard the name Lucy.

It was almost funny, really.

"Jenova on a pogo stick," she heard Reeve suddenly shout. Something hit the floor, several somethings, actually, and heavy booted footsteps thudded their way to the kitchen.

Reeve stared at her.

"Help me up?" She asked. "I wanna go eat at the dining table. Like a normal person."

"Who are you?" He replied.

"I am Chekhai, work at Silent Sun."

"Oh."

"I am just leaving?"

"Has she paid you?"

"No money needed. Happy to serve Empress of Heaven."

And with that, Chekhai bowed to Yuffie and moved towards the door, easily pushing Reeve aside to leave.

Vincent followed immediately after the woman's exit.

"That is one scary-ass lady," Yuffie said, recalling the woman's face as she offered the services of her family. She slid the war fan open and closed. "Hey, Vincent, can I be her when I grow up?"

"You've probably been to prison too many times."

"Only four, hah, and I escaped like THAT each time! So there!"

Vincent Looked at her, and then turned to Reeve. "Some doctor."

"Oh, shut up! So I misgauged her weight---!"

"You could have overdosed her."

"But she didn't OD, she's sitting there, in pain! You should have HEARD her, Vincent."

"I did."

"And you didn't just want it to stop hurting her? You didn't want to make her feel at least a LITTLE better?"

"Anaesthetizing a martial artist does more harm than good. Always."

"Cold bastard."

Marlene harrumphed. "Your FACE is a cold bastard!"

"MARLENE!" All three adults in the room hissed at once.


	5. Chapter Four

Notes:

jeyukbokkeum - a very spicy stir-fried pork dish. Korean.

samgyeopsal-gui - a slightly spicy grilled side of pork, usually served with lettuce. Korean.

nikujaga - niku (meat, in this case beef) and jagaimo (potatoes). A very home-y, hearth-y meal. Includes sugar and soy sauce. Japanese.

soba - buckwheat noodles. In this case, served with an extra hot curry. Japanese.

**Operation: Exploding Jellyfish!**

**Chapter Four: Some Like It Kraken**

Yuffie practically bounced into the dining room. It wasn't really a bounce, but it certainly tried to be one— if it hadn't been for her ribs, it certainly would have been a bounce.

She stopped abruptly when she saw the table setting.

Five places had been set, all with little rice bowls and soup bowls and plates made of Wutaian pottery— her second-favourite set, the set she'd given to Tifa as a housewarming gift. The set that had the teeny tiny little turtles painted in rings on the rims of the plates, and in miniature on the rice bowls, and on the outsides of the teacups. Chekhai had even pulled out the green porcelain chopsticks with the chopstick rests that were shaped like turtles.

"Tifa kept them," she squealed. "She kept the chopstick rests!"

"Turtles?" Reeve asked. He sounded slightly puzzled. And then, she could tell from his voice, he began to grin. "Is somebody a little obsessed?"

"Hey! Turtles aren't THAT weird! I mean, it could have been MOOGLES! And I'm not obsessed, either!"

She moved towards the table, began spooning rice into bowls and soup into bowls and pouring tea. Vincent made a strangled sound and stopped her hand when she went to lift the teapot.

"No lifting."

"Hey, if I can lift without pain—"

"—Reeve's bandages will not hold."

"Will TOO!"

Vincent turned and gave Reeve a non-patented (he was too busy and antisocial to bother with patenting offices) Glare Of Mega Ultra Painful Death.

Reeve shut up, his mouth closing with a snap.

"Okay, fine, Monster Man. Since I can't serve, you can serve for me." She clapped her hands. "Okay, the jeyukbokkeum goes to Reeve— no, not the samgyeopsal-gui, that's for Marlene. I said NOT the samgyeopsal-gui!"

Vincent sighed, finally finding the stir-fried pork dish and scooping it into a random plate.

"Yeah, that one. Reeve, you can sit wherever— you've got fried rice, no egg. Love me, Reeve, love me: she would have charged extra for that." Yuffie pointed to a covered bowl. "Now, the curry soba— yeah, that one— is mine. I ordered it extra hot. That one goes over there," she pointed again, "by the other plate with the steamed rice. And, uh, the samgyeopsal-gui is Marlene's, she's got fried rice, no egg. Sorry, but Reeve's allergic to eggs. And the nikujaga is Denzel's. He's next to Marlene."

Vincent shuffled dishes around, as well as place settings.

There was one empty plate left on the table. He looked over at her.

Yuffie shrugged, wincing. "And you can have whatever you want from the rest of the dishes. You've got steamed rice, by the way."

Dinner actually passed without incident.

Mostly.

That time when Denzel used one of his chopsticks to spear a bit of meat didn't count. Same for when Marlene spilled a glass of milk _all over_ the table. Or when Reeve laughed his ass off at Denzel poking Marlene in the side with a chopstick and Vincent Death Glared and Yuffie started to cry because laughing hurt.

"I'm okay," Yuffie had said through the tears. "No, Vincent, really, I'm fine. Quit _hovering_, fuckdamnit!"

And Vincent had glared, but he'd backed off,

But really, aside from those couple of incidents, everything went fine.

Maybe.

hr

_21:00_

Cloud wasn't quite so lucky. First, there was the traffic. People in Edge seemed to dislike motorcycles. That wouldn't have been a problem, if it hadn't been coupled with the tendency in Edge to immediately max out the throttle as soon as the traffic lights turned green.

Yet another beat-up old pickup truck cut him off, even as a smaller, newer car tried to swipe him off the road.

It was the pack that broke the Chocobo's back. He'd been trying to get through _one freaking street_ for the better part of fifteen minutes. And he'd never been known for his patience.

He could have dealt with being cut off. But good freaking grief, trying to run him off the _road!_

Cloud flipped them both off and gunned his own engine. In an incredibly dangerous manoeuvre for which he would kill Denzel for ever considering, he pulled between the two vehicles and sped out in front of the truck.

"Crazy sons of BITCHES!" He shouted behind him. "How do you like THAT, huh!"

"Cloud, calm down!"

"That guy could have killed us! He tried to run us off—"

"I _know_, Cloud. I'm riding the same bike you are."

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Cloud."

And the rest of the ride passed in silence. He wouldn't have been able to hear Tifa, anyway.

They finally reached the restaurant.

Orunita's.

It had taken him entirely too much work to get a reservation. He'd called and called, and called some more. Finally, he'd had to go _to_ the restaurant and say within the first sentence that he was Cloud Strife of AVALANCHE, show his driver's license, and show the ID card Reeve had made for them.

Apparently, people had tried to change their names to Strife or Lockhart— he'd even heard of people imitating Reeve or Cid. So Reeve had created an AVALANCHE membership card, to prove that they were really part of AVALANCHE.

It had been a pain in the ass, but he'd heard nothing but good about Orunita's food and service. So it was worth it, right?

A young man dressed in a valet uniform stopped him when he entered the parking lot.

"Excuse me, sir, but we don't allow motorcycle parking here."

Cloud blinked. "I have a reservation."

"I'm sorry, but we don't allow motorcycle parking here."

Cloud nodded. Today just kept getting _better and better_, didn't it? Reeve'd kicked him out of his office, he'd gotten Yuffie shot trying to get the engagement ring, he'd nearly gotten run off the road— and now he couldn't even park at the damned restaurant where he'd spent over _two hours_ trying to get a reservation.

"I understand." _Omni hates me._ "Where's the closest place I can park?"

"Uh, it's about three blocks from here." The valet pointed. "That way."

"Thanks."

Cloud took off, keeping exactly what he thought of the situation to himself.


	6. So Long and Thanks for all the Fish

**Operation: Exploding Jellyfish!**

**Chapter Five: So Long, and Thanks For All the (Jelly)Fish**

Marlene snuggled up to Yuffie, who had monopolized the couch.

Yuffie sighed, content. She might not be able to sit up or lift things or move her torso at all, but she _could_ snuggle with the Damn Cutest Little Girl In the Whole Wide World, and if that didn't about cover all the shit she ever wanted to do when bedridden, it was time to blow up Edge.

Denzel curled up with his back to the couch, munching popcorn. Reeve sat next to him, one arm loose around the boy's shoulders.

Wasn't Denzel technically in the WRO or something?

Yuffie would have shrugged, but that would have hurt.

On the television screen, the Corel Chainsaw Massacre Man was sneaking up behind poor, defenceless Mary Alice.

"Turn _around_, you idiot!" Denzel hissed.

Mary Alice went down in the library in a blaze of gore. Chocolate-syrup blood spattered hard back volumes supposedly bound in Corellian leather. For no real reason other than 'because the director could', the camera randomly switched to one of the aisles of books, showing a dark liquid creep towards the camera.

Reeve paled. "Yuffie, are you sure they should be watching this?"

She snickered. "I was younger than Marlene the first time I saw this."

"No wonder you're so fucked up," Reeve replied.

Yuffie, having nothing else to hit him with, smacked him in the back of the head with a pillow. Removing said pillow from under her torso hurt like a bitch, so she smacked him extra hard to make sure it was worth it.

"Yeow!" Reeve yelped.

"I'd say sorry, but you deserved it."

"Did not!"

"Did too! I am _not_ fucked up! And you're not supposed to say stuff like that in front of the kids!"

Marlene made a strangled sound. Yuffie, hearing it, turned her eyes to the screen.

The man with the chainsaw was standing behind a pair of children. A tiny little girl with hair that (had the movie been in colour) would have been the colour of corn silk clutched the hand of a boy who would have been a brunette.

"Dennis?" The little girl whispered, her voice stereotypically high and childish in that classic 'little blonde girl' voice. She also had the classic 'little cute girl' lisp. "I feel as though we're not alone."

The chainsaw revved.

Poor cute little Mary Jane and her big brother Dennis were bisected simultaneously. The director went psychotic with the chocolate syrup. At one point, it even dripped down the camera lens.

Marlene screamed. Denzel screamed (like a little girl, Yuffie noted with vicious glee). Reeve screamed, but that was probably because Mary Jane had been holding a stuffed Moogle, and now it was all bloody.

Denzel and Marlene also jumped backwards, which slammed the couch, which jarred Yuffie, so she screamed. In pain.

And there they were, screaming, when Vincent, stark white and armed with the Cerberus, came rushing down the stairs.

"Ow! Ow-ow-ow!" Yuffie wailed. "I am never ever letting _any _of you watch a horror movie with me ever again! That hurt!"

"How come the little girl had to die!" Marlene demanded.

"'Cos she's not Jeanette, okay! There. The blood is chocolate syrup and everybody but Biff and Jeanette die!" Yuffie snapped.

"What is going on?" Vincent demanded. His tone still wasn't quite a question, but that was okay— AVALANCHE knew how to make allowances for Vincent's terminal case of Vincent-ness.

"Everybody but Biff 'n Jeanette is going to die?" Marlene wibbled.

"Yes, everybody but Biff and Jeanette is going to die. And if you ever slam into this couch again while I have broken ribs, I am going to strangle you."

"What. Is. Happening." Vincent sounded both angry and confused. At the same time.

Hallelujah! Praise Lord Leviathan! Break out the tambourines and sing it! Vinnie managed to have more emotional depth than a toilet bowl!

_Urge... to cackle... rising... must... resist_...

Onscreen, Biff shouted, "Damnit Jeanette! He's going to find us! Pull yourself together!"

"But I _love_ you, Biff! Why can't you tell me if you feel the same?"

Marlene made a disgusted sound. "She's dumb. How come she gets to live but the kids have to die!"

"Because she has a nice rack," Yuffie replied.

"What's a rack?" Marlene asked.

Vincent put his face in his hands. Reeve glared.

"Jeanette gets to survive because she's Biff's fiancée." Reeve enunciated every word very clearly— especially the 'Biff's fiancée' part.

That was a complete lie— the movie had never stated that in any of its many incarnations. But she had figured that Reeve wasn't going to say something along the lines of, 'Because Biff needs to get laid' or 'Because Biff needs to get married so he can repopulate Corel'.

"That's nice. I'm happy for them. What's a rack? And how do you know it's nice?"

Vincent shook his head. "Yuffie was using an inappropriate term—"

"—I don't think Marlene needs to know that. And I'm sure Yuffie's sorry she said that. _Right_?"

Yuffie nodded. That goatee was fucking _scary_.

"Very sorry."

hr

After a three-block walk, uphill both ways, with him in dress shoes (not so bad) and Tifa in heels (according to the mutterings he would hear later, absolute _hell_), they finally arrived in Orunita's.

If the food wasn't sublime, he was going to demand his money back. _And_ send Yuffie on some sort of smear campaign. And she'd do it, too. In a heartbeat.

They were actually seated quickly, shock of shocks. And, as he'd specified, they had a hell of a view. The city actually looked something other than war-torn, smog-filled and dirty. The lights of the various buildings and distant view of the mountains was enough that the Cloud Strife Sense of Rip Offs was mollified. At least a little.

Of course, his careful planning all went to hell when a young woman wearing, oddly enough, dress slacks, stepped up to take their orders. Her hair was a _violently_ plum colour. It wasn't just purple: it was purple with a vengeance, as if it were daring him to note that it was purple. Her skin was dark, only a shade or two lighter than Barrett's, and she was wearing contacts that made her eyes look yellow, like a cat's.

All in all, she was quite a character.

He fought to keep the bile out of his mouth. Nothing was going according to plan. That Orunita's hired such crazy looking people (thinking this was rather hypocritical of him, but that's Cloud for you) did NOT bode well for him at all.

"Mr. Strife," the young woman said, and Cloud blinked to realize that this young woman was, in fact, a young man. "I'm Vivi Orunita. I want to apologize for any inconvenience my valet caused, so I'm going to serve you myself."

That explained everything. _Everything_.

The bile went back down, to its rightful place in his stomach. Cloud nodded.

Vivi smiled, amazingly cheerful. "Now, what can I get for you to drink?"

He traded glances with Tifa.

"A glass of Valentin, red, if you have it," she said, smiling.

He knew it was just him, but he still didn't like seeing her smile at other men.

"And for you, Mr. Strife?"

"W Stout." He replied.

Tifa sighed. "You _still_ drink that?"

"Yes." He left it at that. He didn't feel like being emasculated publicly tonight.

"W Stout, as in the lager?"

He nodded.

Vivi gave him a sceptical look but hurried away. He returned with a glass of red wine and a bottle of W Stout.

After that, it was menus, and discussing food, and just hoping to hell he could get through dinner without pissing Tifa off too badly.

He'd heard Yuffie muttering something about eating spleens if Tifa said no.

* * *

Yuffie yawned (which hurt) as she contemplated the next movie.

They'd put off _The Corel Chainsaw Massacre (B&W)_ until after Marlene and Denzel had gone to bed.

But now that they'd finished it (and by they, she meant Vincent in addition to she and Reeve— he'd stayed, after she begged, and even let her use him as a foot rest), she wasn't sure which movie to watch next.

"C'mon, Reeve. _Arukado-Sama_, _The Wolfman _or _It Came From Beneath The Sewers_. Just pick, okay?"

"Uhhh, what are they?"

"_Arukado-Sama_ is the ORIGINAL, black and white Wutaian vampire movie. Waaay scarier than _Dracula_ could ever be. Partly 'cos it's not set in NIBELHEIM or COREL. I mean, are those the ONLY places where scary stuff happens? And _The Wolfman_ is THE werewolf movie, I am not kidding. And well, the Sewers one... Just doesn't compare."

"Uh, doesn't Vincent get a vote?"

Yuffie snorted. "Does the _lampshade_ get a vote?"

Vincent turned his head and Glared.

"Okay, fine. Vinnie, you pick."

"_Arukado-Sama_." He said it without hesitation.

"Fine." She handed Reeve the DVD, but he shook his head.

"We need popcorn and drinks. I'm gonna go grab an ale out of the kitchen. Either of you want anything?"

"An orange juice and vodka," Yuffie replied. "And _don't_ water it down. You got me started on under-aged drinking; you might as well indulge my adult drinking."

They both turned to stare at Vincent. He rolled his eyes and replied, "Wine. Red."

"Goodie! Vinnie, you can help me sit up!"

"What?"

"This movie _still_ scares me. I watch it every year, and it gets me every time. I'm not sitting on this couch alone."

And then she pulled The Face That No One Can Resist. She'd learned the trick watching Marlene.

She discovered, to her great surprise, that it actually worked. She nearly pumped her fist in the air and screamed _Huzzah_ at the discovery of a new weapon against the forces of evil­— or Vincent's Gloom, whatever.

"Ah," he replied. And he helped her sit up, with a minimum of actual physical contact. He even helped her position her pillows.

Seven minutes later, as Vincent was popping the DVD into the disc tray and settling next to her on the couch, Reeve returned balancing a bowl of popcorn and an unopened bottle of ale. The popcorn and ale went onto the table, and then Reeve went back to the kitchen. He came back with a glass of red wine.

And a leftover milkshake.

Yuffie made her outrage known. "Good. I get the middle. _And_ the popcorn. And you can just do without, Reeve. I am—"

"It's one of Cloud's."

"Really?"

"Did you hear the blender running? He told me to give it to you sometime tonight. I figured you'd rather have one of his milkshakes than a screwdriver."

"POPCORN FOREVER. C'mon, let's watch the movie."

And so, _Arukado-Sama_ began.

* * *

They both had the spaghetti. It was neither coincidence nor conscious decision. They just... both had the spaghetti. Tifa, because it went with red wine. Cloud, because he liked it. The end.

They were almost through with the spaghetti, as Vivi refilled Tifa's glass of wine _again _(it actually hadn't been that many refills, but Cloud was nothing if not prone to random bouts of paranoia), that Cloud began to think of exactly how to give the first ring to her.

Finally, he decided to just start with the background. He set down the bottle of ale. "You know that after the Nibelheim incident, Shinra confiscated the clothing and personal effects of the citizens, right?"

Tifa looked up at him. Apparently, the thought of Shinra employees stripping her father of anything valuable wasn't exactly a pleasant one.

"And then they—"

"—Mass cremations. I know. Reeve told me."

Reeve had looked into some Shinra files for her. That was right. Cloud had almost forgotten about that.

Cloud, not sure of how else to say it, finally said, "They didn't melt anything down. Maybe they thought they could sell it in various estate sales, or something."

"And?"

He pulled the tiny tin box, marked with a serial number, out of his pocket. He slid the latch and opened it for her.

"I remember that your father wore it a lot," he told her.

Tifa pulled the tiny ring, on a fine silver chain, out of the tin canister. She held it in trembling fingers, and Cloud wondered if he'd done the right thing.

"This— this was Mom's. Her engagement ring."

"She must have had very small hands."

"She did, actually. My mother was tiny. Heh." Tifa looked up at him again, eyes full of tears she wasn't quite ready to shed. "I remember, even in my earliest memories, feeling like a giant next to her— even if she was taller than I was." She choked up. "Thank you. I don't think you know how much this means to me."

Vivi, in that riot of dress slacks and a ridiculous blue peasant shirt, came back to them. "Are you finished with your meal?"

The tears started to spill over, like tea sloshing from one of Shera's teacups. "I don't think I'll be able to eat anymore— not pasta, anyway."

Vivi blanched. "Dessert, then?"

"Maybe a cup—"

"—She'll have the Ring." Cloud cut in. "And a cup of coffee."

Tifa looked both angry and confused. "Cloud, that isn't on the menu."

He merely shrugged.

Vivi returned with a plate. Finer china, Cloud noticed. On the centre of that plate was a small black box, resting on a doily (of course). Someone had ladled caramel, chocolate syrup, whipped cream and various other desert toppings into an intricate tracery surrounding the doily.

Tifa dropped the wineglass.

* * *

Yuffie began to laugh. And, because laughing hurt, she also started to cry.

Vincent gave her an odd look.

Reeve looked over at Vincent, then back at the television screen. And then he started laughing. He reached out and snagged the remote control. He paused the movie at a shot of Shin Eru.

Yuffie pointed at the television screen.

Red cape. Black Mandarin collared shirt. Black pants. The buckles, the straps, everything but those damned shoes— it was pretty well a replica of Vincent.

"The half-Eastern hunter. What of it?"

"He doesn't see it," Yuffie found herself saying. "Oh _gawd_, Vinnie, you don't see it?"

"Vincent, you're dressed the exact same way."

He wasn't willing to meet their eyes. "This is the first time I have seen this movie. It was still a cult classic before she— _before_."

"But you never saw it." Yuffie sighed. "Hojo had a sick sense of humour."

But Vincent shook his head. "It was not Hojo."

Yuffie and Reeve blurted at the same time, "What?"

"It was... A Deathnight costume. Lucrecia insisted that I attend, and I insisted that I attend armed. So..."

"A Deathnight costume from _when_? And how did— you know what, I don't want to _know_ why the moths didn't eat your clothes."

"From before things went... sour."

Yuffie shook her head. "We gotta get you some new clothes, Vinnie. You're wandering around in a five zillion year old Deathnight costume." She perked up. "You'd better dress up as something new this year!"

"Only if you do so as well." He gave her the I Disapprove look. "I have seen photographs from last year."

"Really? What'd you think?"

"I am surprised your father did not disown you."

"Aw, come on! It was just—"

"It was _just_ indecent."

"Oh, you _know_ that's how they would have dressed! And my legs were _totally_ covered!"

Of course, the bodice had been tight, and she'd had a long, shiny chain that dangled into her cleavage. In a really sad version of Wutai, it probably _was_ scandalous, and Godo hadn't exactly been happy.

"Fine. I'll go as Sanada Satsumi, the novel version."

"Then I shall dress as—"

"—Arukado," Reeve grinned. "And I'll be Fenri."

Yuffie chuckled evilly. The thought of Vincent in a traditional kimono with cheap plastic fangs in his mouth was just too much.

Reeve poked her, and she squealed, only to make him glower. "Shut up. We're watching the movie!"

"No, what we're _watching_ is goddamn _static_," Yuffie replied.

* * *

In the confusion following the wineglass incident, Vivi immediately rushed back to the kitchen (presumably to grab a towel or something), a couple of employees moved over to try and help, and Cloud grabbed his napkin and began to mop up the spill.

As he worked, he mumbled, blushing furiously, "Tifa, will you marry me?"

Tifa's response was the ever-intelligent, "Oh. My. God."

Cloud blinked. "Tifa—"

It was at that moment that a young woman wearing a red skirt suit decided to accost them.

Well, Cloud felt like he was being accosted. That may or may not have been due to the fact that he was on his hands and knees, scrubbing away a stain.

"Cloud Strife?" The woman asked.

"What?"

"Mr. Strife, my name is Freya Corlew. I'm with WRIN. Have you heard about the break-in into the WRO headquarters?"

Cloud bit back an angry retort. He stood, nodded.

"Yes. I interviewed Dan Xu, and she described a young woman who matched the description of Yuffie Kisaragi. Do you know if Miss Kisaragi was involved in this?"

He clenched his jaw, finally saying, "She was."

"And what do you think of her actions? Do you know if President Touesti plans to press charges?"

He closed down his face, just _stopped_ his facial expressions. Now was not the time. "I think we have more important things to think about. Tifa?"

He looked over at her. She was smiling at him, her eyes _still_ full of tears, even as she cried. It was like an endless teacup, filling and refilling with tea constantly splashing over.

She took the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger. "Of course," she said.

Cloud, not sure what she was replying to, remained quiet. He just watched her, his breath catching in his throat, hoping she had meant what he wanted her to mean.

After a little while of silence, Tifa sighed. She put her hand on his shoulder (her _left_ hand), her smile widening. "Of course," she told him, softer this time.

Cloud's immediate response was to let out a loud whoop and lift Tifa by her waist into a kiss publicized on Edge's eleven o'clock news.

* * *

Yuffie smiled as Reeve leaned over and put his arm around her shoulder. That easy gesture (so in line with Reeve's relaxed, gentle style. He and Cid were the only people in AVALANCHE who did it, and she wondered why) was comforting, for some reason. If he'd forgiven her enough to sit like this, she knew she would be able to sleep soundly.

On her other side, Vincent sat ramrod straight. Even he had begun to relax, though. If you could call it that. It was more that he had begun to gravitate towards the two of them.

_Arukado-Sama_ was classic Wutaian horror: atmospheric, creepy, and clawed its way into your head within the first five minutes. When it was being actively scary, it could lay low even the bravest of people.

She had come precious close to screaming when Uemachi Etsuko had discovered her dead daughter on the day of the wedding. The only thing stopping her had been Reeve's sudden shoving of a pillow into her mouth.

Since then, Vincent had moved closer to her.

Onscreen, Sanada Satsumi advanced through the classic Wutaian castle, the all-white silk of her obi trailing behind her. Despite the fact that this was an extremely old film, the swish-slither sounds of the trailing fabric were easily distinguishable from the soundtrack and other "ambient" sounds.

The katana Satsumi had raised made Yuffie snort. She had a healthy respect for this film, but sometimes, you just had to take notice of when a director changed history.

"What?" Reeve whispered, his eyes never stirring from the flickering images on the screen.

Yuffie whispered back, "The Sanada clan was a ninja clan."

And here was coming one of the scariest moments of the entire film. Satsumi would lift her blade and look into it, trying to discern if anything of the werewolf sort was behind her, but she would be unable to see her own reflection.

All she would see were—

No, she didn't want to see this part. She broke free of Reeve's tightening grip and laid her head on Vincent's chest.

He twitched, but let her remain there.

She closed her eyes, listening to the 'hurry' sounds and shrieks of Satsumi's vision. Beneath her ear, she heard Vincent's heartbeat speed up. She fought down the urge to laugh.

His right arm encircled her.

It was one of the best moments she'd ever had while watching a horror movie. She felt warm, safe. Almost not afraid. Sure, she was in some pain.

But at least she wasn't screaming her lungs out the way she had the time she watched it when she was sixteen, _before_ Sephiroth.

"Yuffie?" He asked.

His chest vibrated when he spoke. Yuffie giggled a little, because it tickled her ear.

"Yuffie?" He asked again.

She lifted her head just enough to look up at him.

"Are you well?"

She nodded, dropped her head back onto his chest. In this position, the movie passed by like liquid.

* * *

At about four AM, Tifa and Cloud stumbled into the living room. Tifa was feeling more than marginally punch drunk, but Cloud appeared to be just fine.

That was Cloud for you, though. He just kept going until you knocked him unconscious.

Tifa nearly tripped over an item. She couldn't see what it was.

She heard Cloud snicker.

"Shut up."

And he did.

With his lips on the back of her neck.

When the light clicked on, she blinked again.

From the bottom of a veritable mess of limbs, Vincent looked up at her, his expression sleepy. Above him, Yuffie clung to his torso, her arms thrown around his neck and shoulders. Reeve clung to Yuffie, his head pillowed on her back. One of Reeve's hands, Tifa realized, lay just under one of Yuffie's breasts.

Cloud looked up, away from her neck. She could tell because she felt him shift behind her.

Vincent blushed. Yuffie's breasts had obviously pressed into his back, and the back of Reeve's hand was crushed against his shirt.

The blush on his face was almost cute. Tifa held up her left hand, showing him the ring. She wasn't able to keep the grin off her own face.

Vincent's face softened for a moment, the closest he usually got to a smile.

Tifa nodded.

And, as she and Cloud left the room, she saw Vincent's head dip back down. Reeve loosed a loud snore. She paused for a moment, smiling at the trio of deep, even breathing patterns.

Cloud's hands slid to her waist, and his lips slid from her neck to the small of her back. She threw back her head and laughed.

_EL FIN_


End file.
